Once again, it was a woman's idea. Well, part of it, at least.

My colleague Shaula was organizing a rafting trip for a Sunday afternoon on the Tieton (TIE-uh-ton) River, about 3 hours southeast of Seattle. "Wow," thought I, "what a great opportunity to go for a hike!". It would also be a great opportunity to try out all my newly acquired goodies: hiking boots, daypack, water bag ("Betsy"), hiking guidebook, silk undershirt, and thermometer/compass/keyring.

I enquired around the office and managed to dredge up a hiking partner in Ramiro. The plan: drive to some place near the river, go for a decent hike, camp, and get up bright and early for rafting the next morning.

We decided to head towards Paradise, a popular trailhead just south of Mount Ranier. The drive was about two hours long and fairly standard stuff. Ramiro made for good company. As we got nearer the trailhead, however, some amazing scenery began to unfold from among the wind-blown clouds.

We parked and stepped out into a brisk wind and 5-degree temperatures. I supplemented my shorts with some nylon pants, donned my not-broken-in hiking boots, and we hit the trail.

Paradise was named by one of the original settlers in the area, and aptly named at that. The meadows were packed with rich colors. What struck me most was the unique openness of the space. It wasn't closed-in forest, and it wasn't barren alpine rock. It was a wonderful mixture of tiny lakes, stands of fir trees, green grass and various other flowers and bushes. It had a certain richness to it, like good chocolate cake. Weird analogy, I know, but it seems to fit.

The trail followed the curve of a small valley, then took us up and over the far ridge. We continued on at a good pace, admiring the scenery and talking. Although I enjoyed the company, the bad thing about hiking with a partner is that it's easy to lose track of the beauty around you -- especially if the conversation is interesting. We met a small group of hikers, coming the other way, and they told us of a deer around the corner -- but our loud conversation as we stomped down the trail gave it plenty of warning and we didn't see it.

For me, hiking is best when it is approached with a kind of reverence, like being in a church. We're inside nature's cathedral, and it's no time to impose our noises and expectations.

We stopped for lunch under the lip of a ridge, out of the wind, and were immediately besieged by jays. These were bold birds. Ramiro was kind enough to hold out his sandwich for a picture, but when one landed on it he lost his appetite. Fortunately, he hadn't really liked his sandwich in the first place. I had a demi-baguette with cheese, salami, tomato, and liberated taco bell hot sauce. Lunch was delicious.

At this point I took stock of my water situation. Betsy (the water bag) is a big girl, capable of holding ten liters. I'd probably put about six liters in her, not wanting a repeat of Granite Mountain. Well, the day was considerably colder (the temperature hovered between five and ten degrees celsius) and the trail we were on didn't have anywhere near the elevation gain of my first hike. Six liters weighs six kilograms, or about 13 pounds. In other words, six liters is heavy. I spilled about half and we continued on.

My equipment was, for the most part, functioning quite well. My boots fit well and the water practically leaped off the newly-treated uppers. Ramiro's loafers weren't doing quite as well, but he managed without complaint. The compass/thermometer was attached to the back of my pack, so Ramiro enjoyed looking at it when I was in the lead. The backpack itself was working well, too, although I had a hard time getting the hip belt down to my hips. I think my torso is a bit long for the model I bought.

A little while after lunch, the trail opened up onto a cliff with amazing views and a drop of about 600 feet to the lake below. There are no guard rails in nature.

We followed a trail winding down the aforementioned cliff until we came upon the aforementioned lake, and then the trail rudely deposited us on the road. I was tempted to thumb a ride the half-mile or so to where the trail re-entered the forest, but resisted.

It's interesting how I talk about hiking in the passive sense. For example: "the trail deposited us on the road". All I'm doing is walking. The rest is nature acting on me. I'm just along for the ride, so to speak.

Somewhere around here I ran out of film. Just as well, because the scenery was just too beautiful and I was being spoiled with too many photo opportunities. Ha! Please, people, make sure you bring enough film. You never know when the mountains are going to reveal their secrets to you.

Somewhere around here I also dumped out some more water. Still carrying too much! I always like to err on the side of caution, but I was simply carrying too much.

Well, we'd been hiking down for a while so it made sense that we needed to head back up. The incline began subtly, but soon it was in full effect. The trail crossed the highway again, and then promptly disappeared. It crossed the road at a switchback, so we figured the trail must continue on the other side of the switchback. We cut through the low bushes, crossed the road on the other side of the switchback, and couldn't find the trail. We wandered along the road a bit but couldn't find anything. We walked back into the bushes and finally found the trail about 50 feet from where we thought it should be. This episode foreshadowed events in lesson three: the trail is VERY hard to see when you're not on it.

We were about one mile from the trailhead when we came upon a fork in the path. We had plenty of daylight left, so we decided to take the scenic route out to the waterfall and back again.

At this point the wonderful staff at the park decided to play a little trick on us, and changed their measurements from "kilometers" to "miles". Of course, they did this without marking the sign as such. Blissful in our ignorance, we followed a gushing river along its course, pausing to admire the frequent smaller falls and clear water. The alternating quiet pools and small courses would have made for wonderful swimming holes, but it was just a little bit too cold for that.

We finally made it down to the big waterfall, and discovered that it was accessible from the highway. Somehow, the view is less satisfying when all the lazy people get to enjoy it too. But, I did learn one thing: waterfalls happen when there is a transition from hard rock to soft rock! Not too hard to figure out, but that little factoid has opened up a whole new world for me. I have a new-found appreciation for waterfalls and what they represent -- geologically speaking.

What goes down must go up -- again. We followed the river back up to the fork, and then continued along the last mile of the trail. It ended steep and the conversation pretty much died off as we huffed and puffed back to the car. We finally got there, and the views around us were still amazing. Clouds were racing in among the peaks and wonderful patterns of light and shadow were thrown around the colorful meadows. Too bad I was out of film.

Lesson two was actually learned twice. The first time was when I had to pass up all the beautiful views, leaving them to my rather feeble memory instead of commiting them to print. The second time was when, after the hike, I paid WAY too much for a roll of film at the lodge at Paradise. The film cost about twice what it should have.

By the way, the lodge itself is beautiful. I'd show you, but like I said: I was out of film.

Epilogue: Here's to Betsy, wherever she is...

Ramiro and I camped that night in a quiet state park next to the Tieton River. We set up camp right next to the river and enjoyed a lovely dinner of beans 'n rice, tortellini 'n soup, and various other reconstituted goodies. Betsy was hung on a nearby tree to provide water (which subsequently was not consumed, owing to its funky brown colour).

The night was clear and cold -- so cold that sleeping was difficult. Nonetheless, we awoke decently well rested, packed up camp, and drove into town for breakfast.

Rafting was fun, but a little tame. The river was fairly high, meaning it was fast (and the trip was shorter), and the rapids were less exciting (because the rocks were more covered). Mostly we sat there, paddling when the guide told us to, and enjoyed the sun and scenery.

We were in a quiet stretch when we passed the spot Ramiro and I had camped the night before. And there, hanging on the tree where I'd hung her the night before, was Betsy. Oh no! Unfortunately there was nowhere to land the raft. When rafting was done we drove back to the campsite and, alas, Betsy was gone. I asked the campground hosts and they hadn't seen her. I considered putting up posters, ("Have you seen this water bag?") but decided I had to make a clean break with the past. She was a good bag, and she'd served me well. It was time to move on.

Lesson 2 is dedicated to Betsy, the best water bag a guy could have.